Then he began. He acknowledged the honour they had done Mary and himself in a few brief words of deep feeling. Then, taking a wider course, he told them what he believed this would mean for Socialism, how that the theatre, a huge educational machine with far more power and appeal than a thousand books, a hundred lectures, was now their own.
A new era was opening for them, and it dated from this night. Everything had been leading up to it for years, now the hour of fulfilment had come.
He took a letter from his pocket.
It was from Arthur Burnside, and had arrived from Oxford, during the course of the play. He had found it waiting for him when he returned to the theatre as the curtain fell on the last act.
He told them the great news in short, sharp sentences of triumph, how that on this very night of huge success a great fortune was placed in their hands for the furtherance of the great work of humanity.
When the second prolonged burst of applause and cheering was over Rose concluded his speech with a sympathetic reference to the duke's presence among them.
As he concluded the duke leaned behind Mary's chair and whispered a word to him.
Immediately afterwards the leader rose and said that the Duke of Paddington asked permission to speak to them for a moment.
There was a second's silence of surprise, a burst of generous cheers, and the duke was speaking in grave, quiet tones the few sentences which were to agitate all England on the morrow and alter the whole course of his life for ever and a day.
Mr. Goodrick had a notebook before him and a pencil poised in his right hand.